


Above Ground

by GreenLies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Very Very Mild, its all pretty much fluff, suga is nonbinary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenLies/pseuds/GreenLies
Summary: Oikawa is a businessman on a schedule. Suga is an editor hoping to secure a deal. They meet on a plane ride to Tokyo.Neither of them know what the next twelve hours have in store.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43
Collections: OiSuga Valentines Exchange 2021





	Above Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ratbastard666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbastard666/gifts).



> for the lovely Seren! this was so much fun to write, i hope you enjoy!

It’s an ungodly hour, when the sun is just beginning to rise. Oikawa nurses a muffin and glares at it with disdain, large windows making the natural light crack against his face. It’s too damn early to be doing any of this, but Oikawa is a responsible adult who pays bills and goes to meetings, and arrives for his flight barely thirty minutes before it’s scheduled to take off. Luckily he had gotten through security rather quickly, 

The muffin tastes like shit. His body doesn’t want to have food this early, and his eyes keep drooping shut, chin resting on one hand. It’s not like he could say no, or even that he wanted to. The firm was paying for him to stay in one of the nicest hotels in Tokyo, after all, and there would be a function on the second evening with an open bar, and there were plenty of people he needed to meet. He just wishes they had scheduled the flight a  _ little  _ later… 

He catches himself falling asleep and juxtaposes this by slapping his face. The last thing he needs is to explain to his boss that he missed his flight because he fell asleep in the airport, slumped over his breakfast, moping about how early it was. 

Maybe caffeine will do him some good. 

The line is long, and Oikawa is slightly disgruntled by how many people are willing to take an early flight and, from the looks of it, are faring much better than him in terms of wakefulness. He brusquely orders himself a tall black coffee in his most flirtatious voice (or as flirtatious as he can make it at ass-o-clock in the morning), prompting the barista to prepare it quicker than usual, and is just turning around to grab the creamer when-

_ Smack. _

It’s like he’s watching it in slow motion. The lid being jostled off the cup, the dark liquid flying through the air, the stranger’s huge brown eyes widening and their lips parting, hand reaching out as if to warn him, but it’s too late-

Everything speeds up again when the coffee splashes onto him, soaking through his shirt. It’s only warm for a moment before the chill of his skin and the air conditioning rapidly cool it down, forcing him to shiver with a now-stained shirt sticking in chilly patches to his skin, coffee dripping to the floor. For a moment, everything is silent. 

  
Oikawa narrows his eyes and looks down at himself slowly, and the spell breaks. 

The stranger starts tripping over themself to apologize. “Shit, shit, I’m so sorry, I’ll buy you a new one, I promise-” 

A new coffee? A new shirt? He supposes it doesn’t matter. He ignores the spluttering and turns on heel, striding towards the bathroom. He doesn’t  _ want  _ a new coffee; he wants to get this sopping shirt off of him and to not miss his flight and for the stranger to leave him be. He’s not  _ angry _ \- accidents happen, he knows - but he’s exhausted and in a rush and if he doesn’t hurry he really will miss his flight. 

He checks his watch and curses - he’s running out of time, and he’ll be damned if he gets onto a seven-hour flight with a wet shirt. The stranger is  _ still  _ chattering away, and Oikawa walks faster, just trying to change and get back to the boarding area. 

He’s on a schedule. He does  _ not  _ have time to worry about grey-haired strangers that are a little too pretty to be following him around. He's lucky that he thought to pack a change of clothes - within five minutes he’s got a new shirt on, runs a hand through his hair, and heads toward his flight at a little less than a sprint. 

He barely makes it, shooting a flirtatious smile at the woman who takes his ticket and rolling out his neck as he steps on the plane. His firm hadn’t even agreed to give him business class - no, he’s in economy, which is always twice as uncomfortable for him considering he has to do some weird leg contortion in order to squeeze himself in without kicking the seat in front of him. And when he has to sleep, it’s never comfortable, because his head goes over the headrest and he’s too tall to rest his head on the flight tray and it’s always a complete pain. 

And this flight is  _ seven hours.  _

At least he got a window seat. 

After doing said leg contortion, which is more or less painless, Oikawa unfolds the drink menu, trying to sort himself out. He downloaded some music, and this plane is the kind that lets you watch movies while flying, so he should be fine. He even remembered his orthopedic neck pillow this time, so he might even be able to relax. 

Contrary to the norm, Oikawa Tooru loves flying. He loves being above the ground, being able to watch the world shoot away, the strange intimacy that comes with being so close to others, each with their own story. It’s something he cherishes, so while his legs will surely hurt by the end of the flight and there’s a kid on the plane somewhere whining, he doesn’t feel the need to complain. 

He’s just made himself comfortable when he sees someone putting their suitcase up on the overhead beside him. Oikawa sighs minutely - he had hoped that perhaps it would be a scenario where he had the whole row to himself. Unlikely, sure, but not impossible. 

They slide over into the seat next to him, and he bitterly notes for a moment the difference in how long their legs are - this person won’t have any discomfort, is able to fit into the seat with ease. He shakes it off and continues to their face, ready to throw a swift greeting before burying himself in a book. 

But then he meets the stranger’s eyes, and feels his stomach go cold, his own horror reflected in their eyes. 

Sitting not a foot away from him is the stranger that had dumped hot coffee all over him not fifteen minutes ago. 

“Ah.” 

Oikawa blinks for a moment, dumbstruck, then turns away. He leans his head back, acutely aware of the stranger’s eyes on him, and takes a deep, slow breath. He doesn’t know what to say, isn’t sure if there’s anything to even begin with. 

Seven hours. That’s fine. It’ll pass quickly, really. 

He manages to keep himself turned away from the stranger all through boarding, the flight attendants demonstrating how to fasten a seatbelt, and the plane going up the runway. The stranger spares a few more inquisitive glances, but Oikawa pointedly ignores them, and eventually they stop completely. He already has one hand leaning on the armrest and is using the other to scroll through the movie selection when the engine rumbles, the plane speeds up, and he feels them lifting off the ground. 

Oikawa lets himself look out the window - this is his favorite part, the part when his stomach drops and he leaves the world behind. As it is now, there’s nothing except him, the people in the plane, and the destination he’s going. It’s beautiful. 

He turns to look across the aisle, almost instinctively, and this is his first mistake. 

The stranger is no longer looking at him; in fact, they’re not looking at  _ anything,  _ opting to close their eyes. And that’s fine, he gets it, but then he looks at their hands. They’re clenched into tight fists, knuckles white, and they’re shaking. In fact, when Oikawa looks closely, their whole body is shaking, face pale, breath coming in gulps. 

_ Ah.  _

Oikawa has dealt with a few of these types of people before. Hell, one of his old business partners had a crippling fear of heights, which made their trips together something of a spectacle. He contemplates, for a moment, just pretending that he didn’t see; but Oikawa isn’t that cruel, and the stranger looks like they’re about to shake out of their own skin. 

He touches their arm, gently, as so not to frighten them. “Hey.” 

The stranger looks at him, clearly trying to seem composed, but their eyes glassy with fear. “What?” 

Oikawa keeps his tone low and soothing. “Is there anything I can do?” 

The stranger shakes their head, motions a bit too jarring. “I- I don’t know, I’ve never flown-” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Oikawa says. “Can you breathe with me? Will that help?” 

The stranger nods jerkily, and Oikawa takes a breath, deep and exaggerated, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. He does this once, twice, three times, until the stranger is copying his motions. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks, and the stranger nods again, so he takes one of their hands between his, trying to massage the blood back through them. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Sugawara Koushi,” The stranger answers. Their breathing seems to be slowing down, shoulders relaxing as Oikawa continues his movements. “Everyone calls me Suga.” 

“I’m Oikawa. Tooru,” Oikawa says, letting out a sigh of relief as Suga’s hand starts to open, color slowly returning to their fingers. “What are you here for?” 

“I have a business trip,” Suga replies. Oikawa moves to their other hand. “Boss made me go. First time I’ve ever been out of my hometown.” 

“Oh, I’m going on one too! Less of a trip, though. It’s more of a series of meetings.” Suga’s other hand opens, and Oikawa goes to move away, but Suga’s fingers clamp around his wrist for a moment before letting go.    
  
Oikawa doesn’t retreat, instead gently grabbing Suga’s hand. “I don’t mind doing this, if it helps,” he murmurs, soothingly running his thumb across the back of Suga’s knuckles, back and forth, back and forth.    
  
“Jesus,” Suga breathes. “This is ridiculous, I”m sorry. I’m a grown-ass adult, I shouldn’t-” 

“It’s fine,” Oikawa soothes. “It’s not the worst I’ve seen, I promise.” 

Suga nods, but their eyes are closed again. Oikawa doesn’t argue, instead continuing to draw patterns on the back of their hand, letting them keep his in a death grip until their hold slowly relaxes. 

When Suga finally opens their eyes again, their gaze is steadier. “I’m really sorry.” 

Oikawa just shakes his head. “Don’t be, honestly, I told you-” 

“No, about earlier, too,” Suga says. “For spilling coffee on you.” 

“Oh.” Oikawa considers this for a moment. As upset as he was, after seeing Suga so vulnerable, he can’t find it in him to be angry anymore. “It’s not a problem. And it seemed to make for good entertainment, anyway.” 

Suga bursts into laughter, although the relieved tinge to it seems to show that it’s from more than Oikawa’s joke. Oikawa looks at them for a moment, eyes crinkled shut, a dimple on one cheek, and his brain stops for a moment. He feels his cheeks go pink at the realization that they, this stranger, they’re kind of...

Suga’s giggles slow, and they look at Oikawa. Oikawa grins back, stupidly goofy, finding something about the whole situation strangely appealing. “I shouldn’t have ignored you, though. That was rude of me.” 

“Ah, it’s fine,” Suga says, mitigating Oikawa’s concerns with a wave of their hand. “I probably deserved it. Not looking where I was going, and all.” 

“Are you going to be okay?” Oikawa asks. Color is already returning to Suga’s face, and they  _ look  _ fine, but Oikawa knows some people are just good at hiding it. 

“I think I’m good now,” Suga replies. “It’s just lifting off that’s scary. The rest is okay.” 

Oikawa tilts his head in affirmation. Suga mimics the gesture before tapping at their screen and lighting up with another idea. “We should watch a movie!” 

“Huh?” 

“I mean, unless you wanted to do something on your own. But if we’re both here, I don’t know, we could watch the same one?” They scratch the back of their neck. “That way we’ll at least have something to talk about. And it won’t be horrendously awkward for the next seven hours.” 

Oikawa laughs aloud at the brute honesty. He supposes it isn’t a bad idea. “What would you want to watch?” 

The next few minutes are spent browsing through the selection, picking some action film that Oikawa had seen the previews for a few months back. They press play at the same time, and soon Oikawa gets lost in the movie. It’s fast-paced and easy to follow and Suga’s reactions are making Oikawa’s stomach flip, gasps and bated breath and barely-concealed giggles.

Despite all this, Oikawa begins to feel his eyelids droop. He woke up early, after all, and the glow of the screen is making him tired. He lets out a yawn wide enough to crack his jaw and Suga raises an eyebrow, impressed. “Don’t stay awake for me.” 

“M’fine,” Oikawa replies, voice raspy. Despite all this, however, it’s only a few minutes before he gives in, eyes fluttering closed and succumbing to the pull of sleep. 

⚸

He wakes up feeling incredibly warm, a hand carding softly through his hair. It’s bright behind his eyelids, and the plane is rocking back and forth so gently that he considers going back to sleep for a moment. He nuzzles back into his pillow. Which, he realizes after thirty seconds, is not, in fact, a pillow, but rather someone’s skin. 

He blinks blearily, strings of unconsciousness pulling him back, and then his eyes shoot open when he realizes it’s someone’s  _ skin.  _ He sits up with a panicked, “Huh?” 

Suga is staring at him, eyes wide. “Um… sorry?” 

“What?” Oikawa puts a hand to his forehead. It’s bright outside, sun secure in the sky with the midafternoon, and he feels better-rested than he has in  _ weeks.  _ Suga is watching him like they’re going to reach inside and pull out all his secrets one by one, and Oikawa feels the need to look out the window before he does something stupid like blush. “How long was I asleep?” 

“Four hours? Maybe five?” Suga checks their phone nonchalantly. “They already came around with drinks. I didn’t want to wake you up, though. You seemed really tired.” 

“Oh.” Oikawa bounces his leg, suddenly shy, all too aware of Suga’s gaze on him. “Thank you.” 

Suga nods, and looks away - Oikawa sees a book in their hand, and it appears that they're partway through already. But he doesn't want to let this conversation end, not yet. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, and then immediately wants to stitch his own mouth shut, because of course he knows where they’re going - he and Suga are on the same flight, for gods’ sake. 

  
Suga doesn't seem to mind that much, letting him off with just a small smile. “Tokyo. I have a business trip. First one.” 

Oikawa nods. “Me, too! What kind of work do you do?” 

“Editing, actually.” Suga’s eyes light up. Oikawa bites the inside of his cheek. “I work for a publishing company, and they want us to secure a deal with someone over there. I was considered the ‘most persuasive’, so here I am.” 

Oikawa chuckles. He himself isn’t won over easily - he has a business to run, after all - but he can see where the label would come from. “I’m not surprised.” 

“What about you?” Suga asks. “What are you here for?” 

“I have to meet with a couple of partners,” Oikawa says. “My company wants to begin investing in new start-ups, but they want me to check it out first.”    
  


“Hmm. You’re important, then?” Suga asks, arching an eyebrow, and Oikawa chuckles. 

“You could say that.” 

They fall into easy banter. Suga, Oikawa realizes, is not at all what he had expected - kind, and alluring, and easy to talk to. They have one of those faces that makes him want to say more, even when he’d normally want to keep what he speaks about surface level. He isn’t a particularly warm person by nature, but something about Suga makes it feel almost natural to open up. 

He learns that Suga edits children’s books, that they played volleyball in high school and go running on the weekend and bake when they’re stressed. He learns about their childhood fear (spiders) and what their biggest dream is (to be a teacher) and the way one side of their smile goes higher than the other. Suga is entrancing, and Oikawa never wants to stop talking to them.

He’s almost surprised when the announcement goes off that they’re landing in Tokyo. Suga looks at him, surprised, and Oikawa feels something strange swelling in his throat. He doesn’t want this to be the last he sees of Suga - something about them makes his heart beat a little faster and his skin feel too tight for his body, and he wants to chase after that feeling, have more of it. 

And if how they’re looking at Oikawa is any judgement, Suga feels the same way. 

The conversation peters off as they both pretend to be a bit too busy packing their belongings. Oikawa never did get to read the book he brought, and Suga’s belongings are in the overhead, so there’s a gap of awkward, silent waiting in which neither of them say a word. 

Oikawa feels his heart drop as the plane begins to direct passengers towards the exit. He knows it happens all the time - meeting and leaving strangers, having strange little conversations, relationships of only a few hours that you’ll never revisit. He’s had them, and he knows Suga probably has too, but doing so now feels… wrong. 

Suga begins to walk up the aisle, and Oikawa follows a few passengers behind, still a little lost in his own head. The beautiful stranger with the grey hair is gone. The beautiful stranger with the grey hair will never see him again. The beautiful stranger with the grey hair assaults him as he exits the gate, grabbing his arm and yanking him to the side. 

Oikawa yelps as he’s temporarily thrown off balance. “The hell?” 

Suga has a pen out and is drawing numbers that bloom dark on Oikawa’s pale skin. “Call me sometime. I’ll be in the city until Friday!” 

Oikawa looks down at his arm, then up again. Suga has disappeared, leaving no remains except for the line of digits on his arm that will serve as Oikawa’s sole contact. 

_ Call me,  _ Suga said. 

The call is in the plush of his hotel room. Oikawa settled down not long after he left the airport, giddy smile still on his face, and is now staring at his arm hard enough to burn holes in it. The number stares at him, mocking him, and he rolls his eyes. 

It’s been a few hours since, and he’s beginning to feel a bit apprehensive. Stupid - he’s Oikawa Tooru, for god’s sake - holder of hearts, destroyer of careers, boss of many, whatever, whatever. And here he is, broken down by someone he had talked to for an hour and known for seven. 

The thought encourages him, and he dials the number before he can think better of it. 

One ring. Two. Three. “Hello?” Suga’s voice is even sweeter over the phone. Oikawa lets a smile spread to his lips. 

“Hi, Suga.” 

The first dinner is touch-and-go. They have to wait a day - Suga gave a presentation in the evening, and Oikawa has an important meeting to attend the next afternoon - but they set up a restaurant on the outskirts of town to meet at. 

Oikawa is a bit apprehensive, if he's being honest. Strangers on a plane are not strangers you meet anywhere else - one can find the weirdest and the most normal people, from all different walks of life, all put into a brief pause in their excursion before the wheels touch the ground and then it’s back to the rat race. 

Some things shouldn’t be shifted. The dynamic he and Suga had on the plane - well, there’s no guarantee it’ll carry over, no way to tell whether it will be the same on the ground. He has nothing but a phone number and a name and an address on his phone to go off of, and he’s not sure whether that’s a good thing. 

Either way, when he walks up to the dinner table that night, Suga looks radiant. They wear a scarf, wrapped twice around their neck, layered on top of a baby-blue button down and slacks. They look almost professional, and Oikawa wonders what they did today, how their presentation went, whether they found a new partner, and is surprised - these aren’t questions he normally wonders about people he doesn’t care about, surely. 

But Suga is patient, answering his questions, asking about Oikawa’s own experience in the city so far. Neither of them have been here before, and so it’s all an exchange of how strange and new and exciting everything has been, swirling into a cocktail of delicious anticipation from being in a new place with a new person, a new experience, a new time. Oikawa looks at Suga, really looks at them, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss them. 

The rest of the dinner goes by quickly, Suga stealing a bite of food from Oikawa’s plate, Oikawa letting out soft huffs and gentle smiles and giving Suga access to the side of him that was so rarely seen. It feels so natural with Suga, having to be no one but himself, not having to put on a facade to woo a client or impress anyone. A new person he can be in this new place. 

He and Suga fight briefly over the bill when it arrives, Suga eventually winning out and putting their card on the check with a sharp smile. Oikawa fights down his blush, just as he has been all night, willing himself to stay calm - he’s not the one who gives in this easily, never has been. At some point, it turned into something that was silently acknowledged; the way Oikawa wanted him, the way they wanted each other. 

They stop outside his hotel, and Oikawa’s head is spinning. He wants to invite Suga in. He wants to shake this whole thing off, still worried it may be a dream. He doesn’t know what he wants, but Suga seems to understand anyway, already tilting their head up lightly, seeing if Oikawa will close the distance. 

And he does.

The kiss is gentle, soft, all soft lips and the smooth glide of Suga’s tongue against his. Oikawa grips their hair, needing something to ground himself, and kisses back. They taste good, and he might be addicted, because all he can think of now is  _ Suga, Suga, Suga.  _

He breaks it off with a wet gasp - his skin is tingling, and he feels hot all over. He couldn’t, shouldn’t be this affected by a kiss with someone, but Suga seems to have defied many of the rules he unconsciously placed for himself. 

Suga is looking at him expectantly, lips pink and kiss-swollen, sheen of sweat covering their forehead. A flight, a dinner, and here they are now, standing in front of the hotel. And Oikawa knows he’ll see them again, and that together, they’ll take the next six days by storm. 

Oikawa leans in to kiss them again. 


End file.
